


break beneath these claws

by tuesdead



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Dark Sam Winchester, Gen, M/M, Violence, hell beast sam winchester, non-consensual biting, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 09:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17864846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdead/pseuds/tuesdead
Summary: "There was a legend mothers told their children about a beast with wicked claws and glowing eyes. It was said that he ate the souls of children who got lost in the woods at night. It was said that he left their bodies where their parents would find them, that he left them bloody and pale, tears still making tracks on their cheeks."





	break beneath these claws

**Author's Note:**

> *clears throat* So!
> 
> This was posted as a six-part series on tumblr as a gift for [ saintsurvivor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsurvivor/pseuds/saintsurvivor) ([ stigmaticsam](https://stigmaticsam.tumblr.com) on tumblr), and now that it's complete, I decided to post it here :))

**_break beneath these claws_ **

He pushed his body past its limits, pushing, pushing, running beaten paths. Claws dug into mossy ground, pulling him along with fervor. The strength of a thousand wolves filled his bones, muscles, the very depths of his being. And yet, his footsteps were silent, even as he ran, even pushing himself to his limits, because he wasn’t natural. He had a long snout, sharp teeth always bared in a snarl, gray fur permanently matted with blood.

He had six golden eyes, constantly watching. He never blinked without intent.

There was a legend mothers told their children about a beast with wicked claws and glowing eyes. It was said that he ate the souls of children who got lost in the woods at night. It was said that he left their bodies where their parents would find them, that he left them bloody and pale, tears still making tracks on their cheeks.

It was just a legend.

-

“U-uh, Chief?”

He looked up from the blood, eyes glowing, teeth glinting red through his wicked grin. There was a spear lodged between his ribs, cutting further into his lung with every breath. “What do you want, Bradley?” One hand gripped the spear, pulled, the release filled him with pleasure-pain. He sensed the bile pressing the back of the demon’s throat at the sound.

“Y-you’re being summoned.”

He rose from the throne, blood trickling down from the wound on his stomach, watching the demon's eyes glinting black in fear. He smiled. “Thank you. Fetch Geoffrey for me.”

“Y-yes, m’lord.”

The beast snarled inside his chest. He grinned.

-

The beast wanted out, but he pushed it down, always in control, always waiting for the right moment. This was not the right moment.

He stood at the center of a devil’s trap, lines and curves perfect, waiting for him. The wild gaze of his brother skipped over his form, taking in his tight jeans and bare chest, the blood sluggish but still gushing from the spear wound. He kinda liked how it felt, warm, sticky black-red covering his stomach, the left hip of his jeans. “Dean,” he hummed like a secret shared. He watched his brother flinch, knew his eyes weren’t gold but his canines glinted red in the light of the dungeon.

“You’re alive,” Dean whispered, brow furrowed. It was obvious he didn’t understand.

“I’m not so sure about that.” The beast hungered, watching, waiting for freedom. He ignored it, rubbing a hand over his abs while he thought. “I died.”

“I tried to bring you back.” Dean’s voice cracked.

“I know, but I didn’t let them make a deal with you, big brother. You don’t belong there. You don’t belong to them.” He grinned. “And there are perks,” he said, throwing his arms out wide. “I don’t stay dead! I killed Azazel, I killed Lilith. I’m the king of Hell,” he announced, grin gone manic and deranged. “I do what I want when I want, and I kill the ones who try to control me.” Slowly, gently, he lowered his arms, easing his face back to something tranquil, almost soft. “Why did you call me here, Dean?”

No response was forthcoming, but he could see his brother trying to find something--anything--to say. He shook his head. “Because of the rumors? To see if it was true? If I really took over Hell? Yeah, I did.” He stepped forward, out of the perfect circle, bare feet silent on the concrete. He could have been a ghost. “By the way, traps don’t work on me. Nothing works on me.” He gestured to the hole in his abdomen. “Some angel tried to stab me with the Lance of Michael. It kills _Princes of Hell_. Me? Not so much.” He shook his head, as if disappointed, and pressed a hand to the side of Dean’s neck. Dean leaned into the contact without thinking. “I’m sorry, big brother, but there’s no saving me. It’s been six years for you. It’s been nearly a thousand years for me.” He let his eyes glint gold, bared blood-stained teeth, and then he surged forward, biting into the meat of Dean’s neck quickly, leaving perfect little holes behind, drops of blood trickling. With one last smile, he vanished, leaving Dean alone again. The beast was sated.

-

There were few who had seen the beast and lived, the first a child with intelligent eyes and pouty lips. She was six, she had told him, and she liked his eyes. He’d nuzzled her head and pranced away, affection pounding through him. Too late, he’d realized he’d left blood in her hair from the bullet wound on his neck, absently wondering what her mother’s face had looked like when she found her daughter covered in blood and smiling.

The beast was always hungry, but not always did he want blood, or flesh, or a bone to chew. Sometimes, he wanted nature - raw, untamed trees, ocean waves crashing against cliff sides. Other times, he hungered for affection, somebody to run their fingers through his fur, following his protruding spine, brushing across the thick bones of his ribcage, gentle on the twisted points of his hip bones. That hunger went unsated.

-

“Chief?”

He sighed, pushing his knuckles into his eye sockets for seconds, minutes. “Geoffrey?”

“Well, it’s Crowley, sir. He’s missing.”

Another sigh. “Very well.” He stood slowly, stretching out his long limbs, bare skin pulled taut with his arms above his head. “So. What was he doing when he disappeared?”

“Well--uh--I think he was being summoned by, um, your brother. Sir.”

“Ah. He must be in the dungeon.”

“We don’t have a dungeon, Chief.”

“No, no. Dean’s dungeon. Somewhere in Kansas. Don’t get your hopes up about taking Crowley’s place. I like him better than I like you. He’s sassy.” Joints popped. “Keep an eye on Bradley. He’s planning a coup.”

The beast reared its snout the second he stepped into the dungeon, but he pushed back, control never slipping, taking in the smell of blood. “Crowley, darling, what did you do to piss off my brother?”

The king of the crossroads glared, biting down on the gag in his mouth. With a snap of his fingers, he released the chains and cuffs and removed Crowley’s gag, letting the demon fall out of the hard metal chair. The devil’s trap stayed intact.

“Really, it’s interesting. He could have just summoned me again. Unless, of course, he was trying to make a deal. Save my soul. That one makes a bit of sense.” He shrugged. “I told him to forget about it. Promise.”

“M’lord, he wants to kill you.”

The doors banged open and he slowly turned to face Dean and the angel behind him.

“Sam?” Immediately, he’d gone docile, nearly submissive. The beast pressed forward, but he rubbed his sternum, the pressure enough to ease the urge to bite.

“You can’t keep my crossroads demon tied up. If people want to sell their souls, that’s not under your control.”

The angel looked confused. “What _are_ you?”

“He’s my brother, Cas,” Dean choked out, glancing at the angel.

“Dean, I told you. There’s no saving me. I can’t be killed. I can’t be rescued. This is forever for me. I made my choice.” A silent moment passed. He let the words settle with a few breaths, and then he broke the circle, releasing his demon. Crowley winked out. “You must be Castiel, the little rebel seraph. I like you.”

The angel stepped forward, slapping a palm to his forehead. Nothing happened.

“You can’t smite me.” The beast snarled. He ignored it in favor of moving closer to Dean, pushing his collar out of the way. The bite scar was too faint. He wished it had been deeper, but it could be fixed. “I’ll deal with that later.” Dean shuddered under his hands. “See you soon, big brother.”

-

Time passed differently for the beast. A second was an eternity, and eternity passed in minutes. Perhaps time didn’t exist at all. Perhaps it did. He didn’t question it.

In human time, three months passed before he saw Dean again, and this time it was due to an urgent summons from Dean himself. The kicker was, Dean hadn’t done it on purpose. But he’d been injured, was dying, hanging by chained wrists from a hook above his head. The beast didn’t pay mind to what monsters he was killing when he came out and tore them apart, splattering blood all around him, around Dean, covering the floor, the walls, the wooden beams throughout the abandoned warehouse. The beast could kill anything.

But he reigned it in when they were dead and put a hand on Dean, transporting him into the motel room he’d been apparently renting in the area. Used his magic to heal him, clean him up. Deepened the bite scar on his neck with a fresh one. Then he waited.

-

Dean woke slowly, shuffling awkwardly on the bed until he realized where he was. “The hell?” He bit back a laugh, waiting, silent, watching Dean fumble in the dark. The table and chairs were directly across from the bed, right in Dean’s line of sight, and it was only a matter of time before Dean noticed him. He was good at waiting. Was very patient.

He’d bet his eyes were glowing.

“The _hell_?”

Slow blink, eyes back to green, and he flicked on the lamp with a thought. “You summoned me,” he offered, voice heavy and rough. “I think it was an accident.”

“You saved me?” He sounded unsure, a little broken, and something heavy and hurting swept through the beast's chest.

Another slow blink. Eyes golden. “Yes.”

It was quiet for several moments. “Did you see it too? The huge...?” Dean’s voice came out a whisper.

He said nothing.

“Is this some kind of deal that’s gonna come back and bite me on the ass?”

He watched, watched the color drain from Dean’s face and the regret settle in his eyes. He stood. “I don’t make deals, Dean. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

“Then why am I alive?”

He stopped at the side of the bed, hand brushing across the bite wound on the juncture between Dean’s neck and his shoulder, healing it enough that it wouldn’t hurt much. “Goodbye, Dean.”

-

The hounds of Hell followed him constantly. In the palace, they laid at his feet, close and just barely touching, occasionally moving to nuzzle his hands, taste the blood on his fingertips. He adored them, always kissing their heads, leaving meals for them on off weeks, taking them out and making them run with the beast. That was their favorite.

Shadows followed him too, shadows filled with beings of darkness - and beings of light. They watched him, always looking. He wondered, absently, what they saw. What he looked like.

-

“Chief, you’re being summoned.”

He looked up, cocking his head. “You didn’t hesitate that time,” he observed. The demon forced himself not to flinch or take a step back. He could still taste its fear, though, relished in it.

“No, M’lord.”

“Who’s calling, Bradley?”

“We don’t know, Chief. Their presence is shielded from us.”

His feet hit the floor, silent and cold. “Guess I’m going in blind.”

The summons came from an abandoned warehouse in the Albuquerque Rail Yards in New Mexico. It was hot and dry, the evening sun beating down, but he was in a shady spot, watching the women who’d summoned him pace as they argued.

“What if he doesn’t come?”

“The angel said he always comes when Dean calls,” another said.

“Yeah, but we aren’t Dean. He’s Dean’s brother.”

“A little more than that, if you ask me. You saw the scar on his neck.”

“Claire, you don’t know how that happened. Don’t assume.”

He smiled. “Actually, Claire’s right.” Silent footsteps took him closer than before, right up to the three women. “It’s a mark of - hmm -”

“Ownership?” The blonde asked. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. Maybe younger.

“Not quite. But whoever sees it knows not to touch him, or I’ll make them pay.” Bloody grin. “Ladies. To what do I owe this pleasure? I don’t go out much during the day.”

“There’s this beast.” The woman has short brown hair and warm eyes, but they’re cold when they meet his gaze. “Nobody knows what it is. Or what it does. But it’s starting to appear more often.”

“He’s not a danger to you. You needn’t worry.”

“What is he?” Claire asked, stepping toward him. The other blonde woman caught her by the arm, a warning. He shrugged one shoulder, face calm and serene.

“Nobody knows what he is, really. He’s big, about the size of a truck, and stronger than a thousand wolves. He has grey fur. A forked tongue. The teeth of a canine, but stronger, sharper. Six eyes that glow, claws that tear through skin like butter. But he wouldn’t hurt you, really. Not many have seen him and survived, though he doesn’t typically show himself to those he doesn’t intend to kill.”

“Does he have a name?” Claire looked curious, not scared.

“I don’t know it. He’s kind of new around here.” He turned in a full circle, eyeing their surroundings. “You can put the angel blades away. They won’t kill me.” He gestured to Claire. “You. You intrigue me. You remind me of my brother.”

She frowned, brow pinched. “You still love him.” Her voice was full of wonder. “I didn’t think demons could feel love.”

The beast rumbled in his chest, but he smiled, eyes glowing. “I’m not a demon. Didn’t Dean tell you? Traps don’t work on me.”

“Dean didn’t tell us about you, the angel did.”

“Did he warn you not to call on me? To fear me? Did he tell you that I’m dangerous? That I’ll hunt you down, make you hurt?” His voice was rough and dark, grinding out words in a register that they’d never heard. “Did Castiel tell you he tried to smite me? That his powers were useless against me?”

“He just said to stay away from you.” The dark haired woman.

He gazed at her, slow blink, green eyes. Softened. “Don’t worry, Jody. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt Claire. Or Donna. And the beast only eats the souls of those who act against him. Those who rape and mutilate and murder little children who can’t fight them off. Those who ruin souls in their purest forms. After all, children are the only ones who can look at him without fear.”

He felt them before they could be heard - several vampires inching toward the three women. Jody and Donna and Claire must have set up in a nest without realizing. “You should probably close your eyes,” he warned. “Night has fallen, and your friends are coming to play.”

They looked at each other. “What do you mean?” Claire asked. “What _friends_?”

He bared his teeth. “Vampires, Claire. At least three dozen of them. They must like the desert.”

“Why the hell would we close our eyes?” Jody shouted, glaring at him.

“Do you really want to see the beast come out to play? He’s coming whether you like it or not, and he hasn’t eaten in a while.”

“He’s going to eat three dozen vampires?”

“He might leave some for you to kill.” He shrugged again, the air cooling against his hot skin now that the sun was down. “Maybe you should all stay in one place, though.”

The three of them huddled together in the center of the room, and the beast burst out, glowing eyes, grinning with bloody teeth. Distantly, as he bit into two vampires at once, he heard one of the women gasp.

_Sam._

Panting.

_Samuel._

Blood in his maw, blood on his claws, blood splattering the ceiling.

_Samael._

A scream. He jumped past them, devoured the one with its teeth in the girl’s neck. Met her gaze for half of a second before turning back to his feast.

He was on his knees when the beast abated, panting heavily. He watched Claire break away from her elders (mothers?) and crouch in front of him. “It’s you,” she said, eyes wide, looking him over. “You’re the beast?”

A dark chuckle became a full out laugh. He grinned, pupils blown. “Not exactly.” His voice was breathy but low. Bloody canines glinted in the light of the moon. There were gashes along his ribs, along his arms, across his stomach from vampires who’d thought to bring weapons.

“You’re hurt.”

The concern in her voice felt like a cold hand gripping his lungs. Nobody had been concerned for him in over a thousand years. He pressed against his wounds, gold glowing around them until they were knitted back together. “All better,” he mumbled, standing up, stepping back.

Before he could vanish, Claire spoke again. “Dean has this thing called the Mark of Cain. I’m not supposed to know about it, but… It’s changing him. He’s not acting like he used to.”

He winked at her before he left.

-

Over the years, he learned things about his destiny (sidestepping the apocalypse had been a sacrifice he had to make, whether it ruined his soul or not), about his brother, about the universe and its rulers. He learned about Lucifer, about the cage and the archangels and about Death himself. He learned about the Knights of Hell, the Princes of Hell, about the beings nobody knew of. Like the beast. _Samael._ He was the beast, it was true, and the beast was he.

If that was so, did they control each other? Did he have any soul left?

“Sam?”

He’d let himself right into Dean’s bedroom.

“The Mark of Cain wants to turn you into a demon.” He paced in front of Dean’s bed, heart thudding against his ribs. “And that is not allowed.”

Dean sat up, face contorted in confusion, brow pinched together. “A demon.”

“Yes. I forbid it.”

“You _forbid_ it? Who do you think you are, my mother?” Dean’s glare was flimsy, a façade.

The beast reared its head, but he pushed it down. Not here. “I am the ruler of Hell. I oversee all demonic activity, and I _refuse_ to oversee _you_.”

“You ain’t the boss of me, Sammy.”

The endearment felt like ice water in his veins. He turned away and then turned again, grabbing Dean’s shirt with one hand and his right arm with the other. He was both the beast and the boy king, and he could transfer the Mark however he wanted, he knew he could, even if Dean fought him on it.

-

The room was dark when Dean opened his eyes. It had been hours since Sam had appeared out of thin air to scold him (he only knew this because it had been late when Sam showed up and the clock read 6:00 AM in bright green numbers), and Cas was leaning against the doorjamb looking very, very confused.

“What, Cas? Why are you staring at me? Am I bleeding? Did he bite me again?”

After a moment, he said, “Claire called me. She said, and I quote, ‘Sam turned into a giant wolf with six eyes and ate a bunch of vampires.’”

A giant wolf? “Why were they anywhere near him?”

Cas shrugged. “I told them to stay away from him, as you suggested, and that’s the only thing I told them. She said it was Jody’s idea to summon him and ask about the beast. The thing we keep hearing about? Several hunters have said they killed it, but they never have the proof? Metatron stabbed it with the Lance of Michael years ago and even that apparently didn’t affect it.”

Dean sat up. “The lance of Michael? He mentioned it the first time I summoned him. He had a wound, had been stabbed right here,” he said, gesturing. “Guess that means he _is_ the beast.”

“Do you want to know what else Claire said? She said he saved her life. And that he told her the beast only eats people who rape and murder children.” Cas shook his head. “I’m… not sure what exactly we’re supposed to do in this situation.”

It was then that Dean remembered what Sam had said when he’d appeared. “He was here last night. Must have been after he left Claire and Jody.”

“And Donna,” Cas added.

“Right. He said that the Mark of Cain wanted to turn me into a demon. And that he _forbade_ it.”

“Well, as the king of Hell, I suppose he has some control over such things. But the Mark of Cain was created by God Himself. Even the book of the damned hasn’t proven useful in removing it, and with our time limit--”

“Cas…” Dean stood, holding out his arm. “He said he refused to oversee me. What does that even mean?”

Two hands gripped his arm like a vice. “It’s gone?”

“He spoke some language I’ve never heard before, but it was… Christ, Cas, it sounded… ethereal. I’ve never heard anything like it. And there was… this golden… light. But it wasn’t like your grace, or like anything a demon has ever done… It was… warm. But, I don’t know man. It was weird. Whatever he is, it’s not…”

“Claire said he was kind, even when he sounded superior.” He shook his head, releasing Dean’s arms. “She told me--whispering, like she almost didn’t believe it, but had no other explanation--that it felt like he was protecting her. Like he wasn’t killing the vampires for fun, but because he didn’t want her to get hurt.”

“He saved my life,” Dean offered. And added, “twice now.” A shrug. “I thought maybe it was because I was his brother, you know, before he became… this.”

“She said he told her that she reminded him of you.”

Dean clapped his hands together. “See, there you go.”

“But he protected Jody and Donna, too. Told them all to stay together. Told them to close their eyes if they didn’t want to see the beast. Claire said it was terrible.”

“To look at? Oh, he’s scary, for sure. Worse than a hellhound. But, when I saw it, I was pretty much dead. He ate the djinn that drained me, though. I don’t remember it very well.”

-

He was silent while he waited, watched them talk. Amazing that they hadn’t noticed him sitting there in the corner, eyes glowing. He couldn’t get them to return to their natural color. His skin was too hot, as well, like a fire that wouldn’t go out.

He chuckled when Dean said the beast was scary. It took them a moment to notice, but they turned when they finally did, staring at him in surprise. He smiled, feeling too soft.

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“W--”

“Oh, yes, I did bite you again, but I healed you afterward. No, it’s not about ownership. But you can ask Claire why. Yes, the Mark of Cain is no longer a part of you. Silly, really, that it’s called the Mark of Cain. Originally, it was Lucifer who bore the Mark. He was God’s favorite before he Fell. The beast is called Samael, and he was borne from my soul and the demon blood in my veins, but only after I was taken into Hell. No, he is not evil. No, he is not good. He is me. I am neither evil nor am I good. I just am. Yes, I was protecting Claire and the others from the nest in Albuquerque. They were no match for thirty-six vampires. And Samael was hungry... Nobody has asked my demons for children to rape lately. The golden light comes from the beast. I don’t know what it is, but I use it for healing.”

Castiel stepped forward, too close and not close enough. “Why did you accept the throne?”

He stared at the angel for too long. Not long enough. “I did not _accept_ the throne. I took it and claimed it for myself by killing both Azazel and Lilith, the only two parties interested in the apocalypse--the only two loyal to Lucifer. They wanted Dean to break the first seal. After that, they would have continued breaking seals until they had broken sixty-six, the final seal being Lilith herself. I would have broken it in a church. Lucifer would have been freed. The apocalypse would have begun. I would have ended up in the cage with Lucifer, Michael, and our little brother Adam.” He shook his head. “No. I will not let my brother’s soul go to Hell. Not for ten years, or twenty, or forty, or a hundred. Not for five minutes. I chose this fate. You should have left me down there, Dean.” He stood up, then, tired. He’d bet the glow of his eyes dimmed a bit. “You should have pretended that I was in Heaven like you originally thought. What I am? It isn’t something that can be killed, or reversed, or contained. This monster in my body will not lie down and die, will not disappear. He is me, I am he. We are one being, two forms. One soul, two bodies. Interchangeable. Angels cannot kill me, Archangels cannot kill me, God doesn’t know what I am. Forget about your brother. Forget about the beast. Kill demons, kill angels, kill monsters all you want. But forget about Sam Winchester. He’s gone. I’m gone.”

“Why would you choose this? WHy would you choose to be a monster?!”

He growled, teeth bared, glaring at Dean. “What would you do for your brother? Anything? How about you, Castiel? What would you do for your family? To protect them from the horrors under the earth? The horrors that the pit hides?”

The angel grace bent in the room, and Dean couldn’t see it, but it didn’t matter. It was there, and it was hurting. The angel stepped forward, gaze soft and confused. “You did this to protect Dean. You knew about the prophecy.”

“Azazel told me in the moments after I died,” he whispered, pulling in all of his menacing beast. Like he knew his own name (sometimes he didn’t, but don’t tell anyone), he knew that his eyes had finally stopped reflecting, had returned to green. He would put money down (all he had were souls) that he looked like a normal human to any other human. He also understood that he’d never look human to Castiel. Maybe that was okay. “And I was so angry. I was always angry and scared, _always_ , back then. I lashed out. I was dead, but Dean wasn’t. Dean was okay, he was alive, and he needed to stay alive. Dad would have wanted Dean to live.” He wasn’t even talking to Dean, had forgotten Dean was there, really (despite being in Dean’s bedroom). He wanted--he _needed_ \--Castiel to understand. “I knew, I _knew_ , that I was strong enough, that I could do this. And I am. I have been. And I’m _good_ at it. I promise, I’m good at it.”

Warm hands, _grace hands_ , holding him by his arms. “You are, Samuel. You are good at it.”

It ripped something open in his chest and he pitched forward, just slightly, enough to rest his head against Castiel’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

-

_He doesn’t yet understand you, but he wants to. Be patient._

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, pressing, pushing, pain shooting through his temples. “What’s happening to me?”

_Your humanity is showing._

A low groan tore from his throat and he choked on it. “Why?”

_Love. It remembers you. And your soul, it was always more prone to love than to hate. Nobody runs hell and knows how to love._

“Would he… would he believe me if I told him about you?”

_Perhaps. He’s not your typical seraph. That is why I love him._

“You love all of your children. Don’t lie to me.” There was a heaviness to the throne room, and he hated how it choked him, how it squeezed at his lungs, his throat, the pressure in his spine, his shoulders. Hated the trembling of his fingers in his hair.

_Samuel. You shouldn’t go on like this. Samael will start to take over if he thinks you can’t protect yourself. You know this. I’ve told you this._

He could feel the beast lurking, waiting. It watched him from the inside, prowling his senses, easing his worries. If he thought hard enough about it, it might have raised alarm bells. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to think at all. He missed…

_Samuel, you must decide. Choose a path before a path chooses you, a path you don’t want to go down._

“Stop. Stop it. I don’t–I can’t–”

He had been able to hear God’s voice since the moment the beast appeared. And God–God did not hate him. God did not think he was bad. He was kind to Sam, even though Sam most-definitely did not deserve it. Where was His wrath? His anger? Why did He give Sam His time when Sam had become a monster?

_I can hear you, remember. You are not a monster. You changed everything, Sam. Nobody has ever done what you did._

“Corrupted my soul and created a beast so feared that children a thousand years from now will hear horror stories.”

He might have felt the universe sigh, disappointed. He didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He was damned, and he was the ruler of the damned, and he hated everything about himself.

Amen.

-

There were three knives and two bullets buried in his heart, but for the first time since he was twenty-two, it _hurt_ . He was in pain. He was in _pain_. What did that mean?

And worse yet, he did not want to return to Hell, to his palace, his throne. He wanted, more than anything, to find a bed and sleep for eternity.

Worse still, he could feel the familiarity of claws and fur, of panting, groaning, of the beast wanting out. Growling from his chest, pain from his bones breaking and reshaping - but he pushed it down. “Cas-Castiel. Can you he–”

Sam shivered when he heard angel wings flutter, shuddered between the cold wall at his back and the warm hands gentle on his shoulders. “Samuel?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, something holy pressing at his senses. It wasn’t enough to scour him clean. “I can feel.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to feel.”

-

“Something is different.”

It was an understatement, but Sam let it be. He was tired, his wounds were healing sluggishly, his magic diminished. It was March, and it was chilly, rain was pouring down outside the motel room that they’d managed to front the money for. He was sure he’d made a pretty sight, half collapsed, leaning heavily against Castiel’s shoulder, wrapped in a blanket they’d stolen from a stranger’s unlocked car.

“My humanity has been pushing through. The beast is unsettled and my powers are fading.”

He could still see the surprised twitch of Castiel’s wings. A part of him hoped that he would continue to see them after he’d lost all aspects of being the boy king of Hell. “Your powers are fading?”

Sam nodded. “Castiel.”

“Why are your powers fading, Sam?”

Instead of answering, he rubbed at the bandages on his chest. “Your grace. You worry about it.”

“Yes. I am not welcome in Heaven, and because my connection has been diminished, my grace is not as strong as it used to be.”

A long moment passed. “I might be able to help you.”

Wing twitch, Castiel turned, kneeled to look Sam in the eye. “There is no reason for you to help me. And it is useless.”

Sam tipped forward, nose almost bumping against Castiel’s. Something spasmed in his chest but he ignored it. “I’m an abomination, yet you came when I called. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will do it. I always will.”

Knuckles brushed his jaw. “Why?”

_Samuel. If I do this, will you choose? If you don’t choose, the beast will consume you._

Sam huffed a breath, lips brushing Castiel’s knuckles as his body trembled. “Don’t you see? I’ve already chosen,” he whispered into the motel room.

“Samuel?”

Sam hushed him, easing away. “Don’t worry.”

_A boy claims a throne to save his brother, and he gives it away to save something else entirely._

“Don’t you think he deserves it?”

“Samuel?” Castiel was still on his knees, but Sam had paced to the window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass.

“Castiel, do you have it in you to trust me? Just this once?”

After a moment, Castiel was on his feet, right beside Sam, a hand on his waist. “I trust you.”

It made something crack apart in Sam’s chest, made him tremble that much more.

_Tell him to close his eyes. Would you like to see, Samuel?_

“Yes, please,” he whispered.

-

He hit his knees, skin crawling. “Come, Crowley.”

The demon knelt before him. “My Lord?”

“I crown you, Crowley, the new king of Hell. I renounce my claim on the throne and therefore my connection to Samael the beast.”

There was pain. The beast tore itself from his chest, ripping through his flesh, cracking and breaking his bones, making him scream, but it was over as quickly as it started, leaving only a slow stream of blood trickling from his nose, over his lip, dripping off his chin.

Castiel was staring at him.

“Hey, Cas?”

“I don't understand.”

Sam felt the flicker of Grace as Castiel's brushed against him, searching.

“The beast is gone?”

Sam nodded, using the back of his hand to wipe at the blood. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I gave up Hell's throne. I made a choice, Castiel.”

“What did you choose?” His hand was gentle in Sam's hair.

“I chose you.”

-

There were days when Sam blinked and saw through six eyes instead of two. There were days when his skin prickled as if the beast were just under the surface, days where his fingers ached, his jaw cracked, and his spine clicked as if his body was trying to reshape itself.

Castiel wasn't with him all the time, but he visited often, splitting his time between Dean and Sam. He understood that Sam wasn't sure how to face his brother anymore.

Sam was okay. His body had healed, but there was a part of him that ached for something, and he was afraid to go seeking answers.

He found a job once he gathered enough fake identification, and he worked until he got a call from Castiel asking for help.

“Of course. What can I do?”

_“I need you to help me find Dean.”_

Sam blinked at the lemons he was cutting. He was doing prep for when the bar opened, but he was off at four and he wanted to get as much done as possible before then. “Dean? Why, is he missing?”

 _“Yes. He asked me to place wards on his ribcage again and then he disappeared. I fear he may be looking for you. I did not tell him that you had left Hell. I assumed you would want to do that yourself.”_ Cas sighed, and Sam wondered when the angel had taken to using such human expressions.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Castiel?”

_“Thank you, Samuel.”_

“I’ve told you, Castiel, I will always help you. Listen, how are you doing? Your grace–”

 _“Is better than it ever has been, Sam,”_ he answered softly. _“Thanks to you.”_

“You don’t need to thank me, Castiel. It’s my pleasure. I’ll call if I find anything.”

-

Sam found Dean in Cold Oak. He was standing where Sam died as if it would provide some sort of enlightenment.

“Dean? Are you alright?”

He flinched and turned, brow pinched. He looked too pale, too tired. “Hey, Sammy. Where’ve you been?”

Sam frowned. “You’ve summoned me, haven’t you? Jesus, I’m sorry, Dean. I, um. I gave up the gig.”

“What?”

“I’m not running things downstairs anymore. I’m--just me, now.”

Dean blinked a few times. “Really? You--you’re done? Since when?”

“I… Yeah. Since a few months ago.”

Dean moved closer, eyes on Sam. “So you’re… human?”

He held out his hands, palms up. It was nothing like the first time they’d seen each other after Sam died. For one, he was fully clothed, and for two, he was standing awkward and unsure. He wondered if Dean could tell the difference. “I’m pretty sure.” He shrugged. _Castiel, I found Dean._

Dean looked like he was about to say something, but Sam heard the telltale flutter of wings and caught a glimpse of them out of the corner of his eye. They weren’t there when he turned to face the angel.

“Cas? How did you–”

“I asked Sam to find you,” Castiel interrupted. “God has returned to Heaven.”

Something bloomed in Sam’s chest. “He has? I was trying to convince him.”

Dean frowned. “Wait, like--God? _The_ God?”

Sam glanced to Dean then back to Castiel.

“He would like to speak to you both.”

-

“So… God’s real, huh? He’s…back?”

They’re in the bunker and Dean won’t stop pacing. Sam isn’t sure how to reassure him. “He never really went far,” he decides to say. “He used to talk to me a lot when I was…, well, you know.”

Dean nods, turning on his heel. “So…, why did you give it up? I mean…, you were good at it. And there were perks.”

Sam chews on his lip, staring down at the dark wood of the table. “I was a little weird. I mean, I had a thing for biting you. I mean, it kept most monsters from attacking you, but it was kind of rude. Not to mention bad.”

He doesn’t see Dean shrug. “Doesn’t really bother me. Still, that’s not a reason.”

“I was losing control of the beast. Samael was taking over. I was told that I either had to fully immerse myself in the job, let the beast take over, or give in to my humanity and renounce the throne. He said that if I made my choice, he’d give Castiel permanent access to Heaven, whether the other angels like it or not.” Sam sighs. “So, of course, I chose.”

“What made you choose to be human?” Dean has stopped pacing, instead coming to sit across from Sam. “You can tell me, Sammy.”

“I… fell in love.” Sam cringes. “Allow me to rephrase. I took the throne to keep you out of Hell, and I gave up the throne to give Castiel heaven.”

Dean blinks at him. “You’re in love with Cas?”

Sam makes a face. “Fine, put it that way.”

But Dean knows him, raised him. “What happens if something kills me, Sammy?”

Cold fingers clench around Sam’s heart and he imagines that his eyes flash golden. When he looks up at Dean, he doesn't have to imagine anymore. “I'll choose again.”

-

Six months later, Dean is murdered by a human with too much time on her hands--a psychopath who has a penchant for hunting down men she thinks deserve pain.

He summons Samael like second nature, isn't the least bit surprised when he feels the thorny crown wrap around his head, isn't at all shocked when the universe quakes and he is accepted once again as the ruler over everything unholy.

_Destiny is a funny thing._

He rolls his eyes. _No. It isn't. You should know better than to pretend you didn't know this would happen._

_I can predict everything except you, Samuel. You alter fate like breathing._

Like sand beneath his feet, the concrete seems to shape around him, but it could be that the underworld is attempting to pull him down, home. He has a goal, though, and ignores his call, ignores the rumble of his chest, the way his teeth are bared.

She screams when she looks upon him, and the beast hasn't even sprung free. “What are you?”

He grins, canines blood-covered and wicked. “I'm your worst nightmare.”

“Are you the devil?”

“No. I'm worse. I'm better. I'm the thing the devil wishes he could be.” She dies with her skin turned inside out, and he feels no remorse. He finds Castiel waiting outside and let's the seraph pull him into a hug.

“Are you going back?”

His head fills with pictures of everything that needs done below and on the surface. “My choice has been made.” He cups Castiel’s jaw with both hands, looking into grace-blue, holy-glowing eyes. “Do you want to know why I'm the only one who can do this job right?”

He sees the wings, feels them wrap around his back, and presses closer, kissing like he devours everything else. “It's because I _am_ capable of love. I'm still a little human, inside. That's why I need Samael and he needs me.”

The vessel’s eyes are closed, but in his mind, he can clearly see the true form watching him fondly, watching him in wonder. “You love me?”

“I can't help it,” he explains. “I chose you for a reason, Castiel. Dean can rest now, but I'm forever. Will you be forever with me?”

The answer is provided like a whisper in the wind, heat spreads through him where he was cold before, and his soul, what's left of it, manages to sing. There are no angels where he is going, only demons and the devil and beasts with names forgotten. But when he surfaces, he has something holy to return to, and perhaps that means he is holy too.


End file.
